by M J Sherlock
As the tube neared Bond Street, my Étoile gave a nervous shrill. I pulled it together enough to scan for danger. My gaze skimmed across thirty faces before settling on the right one. A female Venator dressed all in black. She’d come to capture or finish me off. No time to find out which - I needed to escape.
The Venator female sidled closer, perhaps appearing to others as if preparing to get off. I knew better, especially when the Étoile’s shrills grew louder. The lumps and bumps in her clothing suggested she’d come armed. Time to ditch her or die.
The tube squealed to a stop. I leapt to my feet, set off a couple of smoke bombs and fled as soon as the doors hissed open. If the canisters worked, they would buy me precious seconds. I rushed across to another platform and got on a tube to Notting Hill Gate. If I made it to that safe house, maybe I could catch a break.
I kept twisting to check for signs of pursuit. My heart sped up and down like a roller coaster as each person got on and off the tube. I felt each second of the seven-minute journey. As soon as the doors opened, I scrambled out and pushed my way past dawdling pedestrians. I almost tripped over my feet in my headlong rush to escape.
As I exited the tube station, my Étoile gave a new sound. I needed a manual - I was clueless as to what it meant. A Korean punk with purple hair grabbed my arm. I started to pull away before my ears caught his words.
‘I’m Titus, Vashtin’s friend. Come with me.' He flung his grey woollen cloak over me. We blended into our surroundings. I moved with him, struggling to keep up but determined to stay covered. No time for questions. Titus pulled me away from crowds, down quiet back streets. We arrived at a three-storey block of flats and entered using an electronic key card.
My world shrank as I focused on staying upright. I placed one foot in front of the other as I followed him up dirty brown stairs. At the top, I stood dazed, sticky with blood and slime. A hand shoved me from behind towards a dimly lit hallway. When I didn’t move fast enough Titus tugged my arm. I moved forward and stared at a shabby door with peeling black paint. My fingers traced the faded paint where the numbers one and three had fallen off long ago.
Titus knocked. A teenager opened the door. He was dressed in a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms and appeared groggy with sleep.
‘Found this one after a failed Cloaken meet. I tracked her through her uncovered comms orb.’ Titus snorted in disgust.
‘Étoile,’ I muttered, more to be contrary than anything else. My legs felt like they were made of rubber. He’d better let me in soon or I would collapse where I stood.
‘She’s one of your kind, Taine. For the sake of the fated realms, you’d better fill her in before she gets all of us killed.’
Taine tensed, still blocking the door. ‘What happened?’
‘The Venator gate crashed their meeting. I tracked the pair across London and found them as the Venator shot Vashtin. They bundled him into a van while she just stood there.’
I cringed at the accusation and dropped my gaze. He was right. I had failed Vashtin. I wore his blood, splattered over my clothes. Vashtin was dead because of me.
‘I’m off to track him.’ Without using the cloak, Titus blended into his surroundings like a chameleon.
I fazed in and out, swaying. Unable to stay upright, I leaned back on the wall. My teeth chattered and I had a full-on shaking fit.
Taine tugged me into the kitchen. He clicked his fingers in front of my face. 'Snap out of it.’
I perched on a bar stool as I continued to shudder, unable to get it together.
A mug of coffee and a bar of chocolate appeared on the breakfast bar in front of me. ‘Get this in you. It will help with the shock.'
I went for the chocolate first, closing my eyes as its sweet, silky goodness melted on my tongue. Half-way through the pack, I began to feel human again and opened my eyes.
‘Any better?’ asked Taine. He was tall, muscular, solidly built, as my Nan would say.
I nodded. Despite his terse words, something about him was oddly calming. His eyes maybe? They were blue, fringed with dark lashes. Non-judgmental.
As the shock wore off, out popped my questions. ‘Who or what was Titus? What did he mean - I’m one of yours?’
‘He’s one of the Cloaken, a type of magic user. Like you, I am a Guardian. He brought me an Étoile as you call it on my fourteenth birthday. I never know when he’s coming yet he tracks me easily.’
‘Sounds freaky.’ I wrapped my hands around the mug, and sipped it, craving its warmth.
Taine appeared older than I did, but not by much. Maybe a year. He had tousled brown hair with a friendly face.
I asked, ‘What are the fated realms?’
‘Now there’s a question.’ He paused as if searching for the right words. ‘It’s as if there are multiple realms – the one you grew up in; the Cloaken and Guardian realm; and that of the Venator. We call ours the fated realms as there is a constant battle going on and the fate of the many rests on the few. Tell me what’s been going on.’
Out it poured. The dreams, the premonitions and the unexpected arrival of the Étoile. Weird doorways. Yesterday’s ambush. Vashtin’s death today. The Venator on the tube. Unwelcome tears trickled down my face as I spoke.
Taine’s arm came round me and I burrowed my head in his shoulder. He shoved some cheap toilet roll at me to wipe my face. Too damp, the paper shredded in my hands. When I stopped crying, he removed his arm. I felt bereft, alone, missing his warmth and closeness.
'The Venator has an Étoile and may also be able to trace you through it.’
I groaned. ‘So that’s why Titus moaned about it?’
‘Yep.’
How was he so matter of fact? I slid my palms against my jeans in a vain effort to clean them. 'How can I stop them?'
'Wool blocks the signal. Cover it with the red blanket in the lounge. I’ll sort something else out when you leave.'
I marched over to the grey sofa and hid the Étoile under the blanket. ‘It did come with a soft woollen cloth, but I stopped using it a few weeks ago.’
'You weren’t to know. Normally a relative or one of the Cloaken teaches newbies.’
‘How many Guardians are there in the UK?’
‘Four now with you.’ Taine sniffed and scrubbed a hand over his face. 'Take a shower. Freshen up. Then we’ll talk.’
‘Nothing to change into,’ I grimaced, desperate to be clean again.
‘My half-sister, India, left most of her clothes here. She’s about your size.' Taine handed me a warm towel from the airing cupboard. He showed me his sister’s gear and the way to the bathroom.
Behind the locked door, I stripped off ready for the shower. The contrast between explosions, tasers, guns and fluffy white towels struck me as bizarre. I snorted with manic laughter as the pounding spray of the water massaged my tight neck and shoulders. A hotel quality shower in a shabby flat. Bonus. It took three shampoos before my hair felt free of blood and slime. Taine had no conditioner, so I made do without. I dressed in black leggings, a baggy white t-shirt and a grey hoodie.
Did Taine have a washer/dryer? I would throw my clothes away, but not yet. If I went home in someone else’s clothes after being missing overnight my parents would freak out even more… Who else lived with him and where were they? Was India as exotic as her name? The scent of frying bacon and eggs drew me to the kitchen. Taine was fixing breakfast. He wore blue jeans and a red t-shirt with the slogan from my favourite TV programme.
'You’re very domesticated. My Dad barely knows how to microwave something, never mind cooking from scratch. Do you mind if I use your washing machine?’
‘Be my guest.’ He pointed behind him to a utility room.
I chucked my clothes in the washing machine and added a tablet and switched it on. My trainers came next. I rinsed them under a tap, but it made little difference. They were ruined.
Taine pulled some plates out the cupboard and set knives and forks on the breakfast bar. He motioned for me to sit. 'You’r
e wasting away. Titus was harsh before; anyone would freak out facing guns and tasers.’
‘Thanks. Seeing Vashtin shot was horrific. Since my birthday in February, I’ve felt as if I was going insane. So relieved to find I’m not.’
'Get some food down you and then I’ll fill you in.' Taine served up bacon, eggs sunny side up, triangles of toast with baked beans and great dollops of ketchup.
It smelled delicious and my stomach rumbled making us both smile. He sat next to me as we demolished the food. By the time we’d washed up, my clothes were ready for the dryer.
We moved to the lounge. I sat sideways on the sofa and hugged my knees. ‘What’s your history with the Guardians then?’
'My parents were killed in a Venator raid when I was about eighteen months old.’ Taine showed little emotion, only a tightening around his mouth and eyes gave him away.
‘Who do you live with then?’
‘India is my half-sister, from my Mum’s previous marriage. Her Dad, Imal, stepped in as legal Guardian to raise me.'
Fortunate. 'Where is he now? How old are you?'
'Fifteen. India is seventeen, Imal works away a lot and believes she’s home with me. He doesn’t know she’s gone off somewhere with Alex. She’s not been gone long.'
I suspected he minded the isolation more than he admitted. He was enjoyable company and we talked for hours. At lunchtime, we made thick ham and salad sandwiches. Taine seemed street-smart and more mature than most guys his age did. I could see us becoming friends.
'Imal knows about you and India being Guardians and he is okay with that? How come he believes any of this stuff?' I fiddled with my hair, forming it into a plait before making it back into a ponytail.
'After Mum gave birth to India, he gave her an ultimatum. Ditch being a Guardian, or he would divorce her. She found a new partner in my Dad. They stayed friends. Imal agreed to care for me if it ever came to it - which it did.'
‘How can he remember this stuff? My parents and friends can’t.’
‘I don’t know. People are wired differently.’
Taine cut off part of the woollen blanket and offered it to me.
I used the back of my hand to close my jaw. ‘Won’t Imal mind?’
‘He would have to be here first. I last saw him at New Year.’
‘That’s when we moved to London. That’s months ago. How do you stand it?’
Taine twitched his shoulders but didn’t comment.
It grew dark outside. My parents would be going ballistic. I had been missing for over twenty-four hours. With a shiver of distaste, I changed back into my stained clothes. At least the stench had gone, they smelt lemony. I folded India’s clothes, leaving them on the side.
‘Would you like me to ride back with you?’ Taine stood in the hallway, waiting for me.
‘Please.’ I was grateful for his company. Tomorrow, I would have to face the underground alone.
‘Before we go back, let me show you how to use the Étoile.’
I fished it out my pocket.
‘Hold it in your hand. Picture who you want to communicate with and speak their name.’
‘How do they answer?’
‘Their Étoile will flash three times. They should get an image of who is calling. Say yes to answer the call otherwise say no or ignore it.’ Taine grabbed his coat and keys.
‘Does it do anything else?’ I zipped up my hoodie and put on my backpack. It still smelled of slime. I wished I had washed it too.
‘Let’s get you home. I’ll tell you more next time.’
A light drizzle fell as we made our way back to the Tube. We scanned in all directions. Tension knotted my neck and shoulders as I checked for any sign of the Venator. I startled easily but Taine radiated reassurance as he took me safely to my door. He gave me his contact details and promised to be in touch.
As soon as I put my key in the lock, my parents were in the hallway. ‘Where’ve you been?’ they yelled in unison. The Moroccan hall light cast weird shadows, pinpricks of light giving their skin a mottled effect. Their faces were drawn and pale.
‘I told you I was staying at a friend’s house.’ My eyes found the grooves in the wooden floor.
Oops - that lit the touch paper.
Dad roared, ‘Liar.’
Concerned neighbours would be knocking on our door if he didn’t tone it down. Still, it was a feeble lie. My parents had an annoying habit of ringing the other parent to check out invitations. Although having Katherine and Maisie had helped, I still wasn’t awash with friends. Dad turned his back on me and returned to the lounge. I followed him and sat on the blue corner sofa but soon wished I hadn’t. Mum and Dad stayed standing, looming over me.
‘Why didn’t you answer our calls? We were frantic.’ Mum spoke in a tight, cold tone. ‘We rang every number we could find. They all said you weren’t there.’ She folded a tissue with quivering hands.
I stared unseeing at the black and chrome fireplace with its white surround. ‘A new friend. My battery died. Sorry, I didn’t notice.’ A nervous tick jerked near my eye.
‘We called the police yesterday, but they didn’t want to know. You weren’t considered high risk.’ Dad’s face tightened as he narrowed in on my face.
‘The police asked if we’d fallen out. Were Social Services involved? Did you play truant? Had someone abused you? They would only help if you weren’t back by midnight tonight. Midnight!’ Mum was yelling again, her face white with red blotches, shaking with anger, fright or both.
Their voices were like barbed whips. Worse, I had no defence, no words to make things right. I sat, helpless. Feeling each cut slide deeper under my skin. Mum ranted on until she made herself hoarse.
Dad sat there; his arms folded and his eyes accusing. ‘You’re grounded. Give us your phone. We’ll discuss any other punishments tomorrow.’ He held out his hand.
I fished in my bag for my phone, wincing as I found it dismantled from the previous night. Eyes down, I dropped the battery, sim and remaining pieces of my phone into his hand.
Chapter 6: Aftermath
I had expected a disturbed night, riddled with nightmares and flashbacks. Instead, perhaps due to the relief of meeting Taine, I slept well. Mum was in the kitchen when I got up. Given it was midday I was surprised.
Mum paused her unpacking of the dishwasher. There were dark circles around her eyes and her face was pale.
‘I didn’t know you were working from home today.’
‘I’m not.’ Mum passed me a clean bowl, a spoon and a mug.
‘Are you going in later?’ I boiled the kettle for my coffee and prepared some porridge.
‘You can tell us anything.’ Rain pelted again the window behind her, blurring the view of the garden.
Yeah right. Like she would even believe me.
The microwave pinged.
‘If someone did something… Held you against your will…’
How could I get her off my back without endangering her and Dad? ‘Thanks Mum.’ I gave her a hug and inhaled the comforting scent of jasmine. I took my breakfast into the lounge and turned on the TV. I caught part of the news...
‘Over to Mark reporting live from Bond Street Station.’
I hugged my knees and hoped Mum didn't walk in as I was too curious to switch channels.
‘I’m here with Detective Inspector Pierce, from the Counter Terrorism Squad. What can you tell us about the recent incidents concerning Hampstead Heath, Green Park and Bond Street Station?’
‘We’re treating the incidents as linked and are appealing for any witnesses to come forward. Please ring this number if you are or have seen this girl…’
Up flashed a blurred video of me in black and white, running through the station at Green Park. Then another of me leaving Bond Street. A cloud of smoke behind me. I hoped my parents didn't see it although they might not recognise me even if they did. My hair had come loose and gunk obscured parts of my face.
‘Now am I right Inspector, this gir
l may be an innocent victim?’
‘She has nothing to fear from coming forward. We’re here to help…’
I paused the image on the Inspector’s face. Perhaps in his late thirties. Dark hair, greying at the temples, blue intelligent eyes. Would he be good in a tight corner? I was unsure. I wrote his name and number in my journal before switching off the TV.
A Venator plant maybe? The news showed no other suspects. The CCTV must have caught their activities too. London had the most surveillance cameras of any world city. Even if he was legit, it didn't mean his colleagues were. No, I would keep my head down and mouth shut.
The next day, I binned everything I had been wearing including my backpack a mile from home so the police wouldn’t connect them with me. For days, every time the doorbell rang, my insides clenched. Taine kept in touch via the Étoile and we met at least once a week. I could speak aloud or in my head as long as my thoughts didn’t wander. He repeatedly told me to, ‘Stop being a stress head. It’ll all blow over.’ Maybe.
Having assassins on my trail didn’t bode well for a normal life. They hadn’t traced me to my home, not yet at least. Vashtin claimed I could endanger my parents. Was he right? Should I run away to save my family? Where would I go?
If I turned my back on the Cloaken and on being a Guardian, would the Venator then leave me alone? Was that still an option for me or had meeting Vashtin put paid to that? How had they found us? Had Titus been right? Was it because of the Étoile? It made no sense. If that had been the case, why hadn’t they traced me or followed me home. Who had betrayed us and what had they known?
Each night I wavered between hoping no-one found me and wanting to atone for Vashtin’s death. While I couldn’t return him to his family, I could make his sacrifice count. Yet what could I as a teenager offer a magical super-race? Would anything outweigh the loss of Vashtin? Was his death the first of many? Could I avenge him? I had no bullets or tasers. The grenades I’d found were non-lethal and besides did I want to turn into a killer? Pain knotted my back and neck. No, I had no desire to kill. I gave the remaining smoke grenades to Taine to look after the day I met him. I didn’t need the hassle of my parents or anyone else coming across them.
